


I’ll make an angel out of you

by Ena2705



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Enochian, Gen, Hunt Gone Wrong, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Nightmares, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester is an angel, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 21:30:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13532931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ena2705/pseuds/Ena2705





	1. Chapter 1

“So we’ve got a possible ghost about two hours down south, and a vampire nest three hours east.” Sam said to his brother, closing his laptop. Rubbing his face, Dean replied “Uh… ghost, I need some warmth on these bones.” Making his way over, his brother handed him some breakfast, to which his only reply was a grunt of approval. They sat in silence as he ate, his brother only scoffing at the speed. “One of these days, you’re going to regret eating so fast.” Sam noted. “Well that day is not today.” He replied, mouth full, and causing his brother to grimace. “Well anyway, the victim was 17 year old Enna Mills. Witness said, and I quote, ‘there was a hot chick muttering the name Cathy over and over as she stabbed her’. The witness then proceeded to say that this girl was floating.” Sam explained. “Sounds like a ghost to me. You got any clue who it is, or who that Cathy is?” Dean asked. “Mmm, I looked further and found that there had been killings of a blonde haired, green eyed, teenage girl every 10 years since 1958.” “Suspicious.” Dean had finally finished his fry up and was now taking full interest in the case. “Yeah, and in 1948, a teenager named Catherine Jones had been stabbed to death by her best friend.” He finished with a sigh. “What, so her best friend died, became a ghost and is continuing to kill Cathy? Bit excessive” Dean commented. “There’s been cases like it before.” The elder brother shrugged and stood up, going to pack what he needed. 

They got in the car, stopping only once at a service station so Sam could use the free Wi-Fi to book a motel room, and so that Dean could use the bathroom, as his eagerness to get out on the open road made him forget to do so before they left. “Room all booked? Let’s hit the road.” He said on his way out of the bathroom, cranking up the volume of the music in the car as he got back in. Eddie Van Halen’s guitar solo powered him onwards and the Impala’s engine roared approvingly. Not so long after, they pulled into the motel parking lot, grabbed their bags, and were in their temporary fort. “So I’m going to hit up the library to learn more about Cathy, and you wanna go check out the crime scene?” Sam said, throwing their duffel bags onto the nearest bed. “On it!” Dean replied, heading to the bathroom to get changed into his suit. “Hey” He yelled from the other room, “Remind me when we get back home to buy a new one of these, this thing is getting a bit worn out.” But his brother was already gone, sat at the bus stop, knowing Dean would want the car. By the time Dean was out, Sam had already caught the bus, so he headed towards the park, changing his plan to give his brother a lift. The engine cut out and he adjusted his tie, before stepping out and flashing his badge. 

“Special Agent Hudson. Where exactly was the vic found?” Dean loved playing a federal agent, the power and authority rolled off his tongue with ease. If he hadn’t been a hunter, he would have definitely been a fed, he thought to himself. The rookie cop pointed him in the direction of the detectives and went back to his duty. “What are the feds doing around this place? Bit dry for you top dogs?” The detective sneered, an obvious distaste for higher authority. Dean simply replied with his signature smirk that could get anything off the hook, and got to work, discreetly checking for EMF. The lights shone red inside his pocket, a ghost for sure. Meanwhile, Sam was cooped up under a pile of old newspapers and books. Turns out, Cathy had a younger sister who was witness to her sister’s murder. Sam thought back to the many a time he had witnessed his older brother die, and how awful that had been, despite knowing there was a high chance of his revival, and that was as an adult. He couldn’t imagine how much worse it would have been for Cathy’s sister, she was 10 at the time. Poor girl. Not wanting to get too attached to such a simple job, Sam exorcised that thought from his mind and returned to his research. The best friend turned out to have been dating the high school jock, and Cathy had been sleeping with him behind her back. Her statement claimed that “The devil made me do it”, and that she “was suddenly filled with so much rage when I found out that I got possessed by an evil spirit that made me kill her.” Sam rolled his eyes at that, knowing that none of which would have been true, the girl was simply crazy. And she was rightly placed in an asylum after the trial, having pleaded insanity.By the time the library closed, it was dark outside and Dean was back at the motel eating take out food. Sam knocked on the door and heard movement inside, knowing that his brother was quickly shutting off whatever he was watching. “Find anything good?” Dean asked, leading his brother in. “Eh, not really. But Cathy’s murderer was buried in the asylum, 10 years after being admitted.” Sam said, grabbing a beer from the mini fridge that Dean had filled whilst he was in the library. “And it’s abandoned now, so no problem getting in tonight.” His elder brother nodded, grumbling about how he hated asylums, that they always gave him the creeps. Sam only rolled his eyes in response, before lying down for a few hours of sleep.

He was tied down, restrained at the wrists and ankles. “What the…” He craned his neck, looking around in fear and confusion. Blood. Blood everywhere. It painted the ceiling, walls, and floor. He could smell it, feel it dripping onto his face and down his throat. He couldn’t spit it out, couldn’t swallow it. He was choking, trying to call out for help but no words came out, just a gargled cry. He was about to die, he couldn’t breathe. Suddenly paralyzed, a tall figure came into view. The figure was hooded, but Sam could still see his eyes, glowing golden as they stared into his soul. Feeling uncomfortable, Sam tried to shift his view, but even his eyes were uncooperative, and he had to bear witness to the figure pulling out a knife. The cold metal blade slid surgically down Sam’s exposed torso, though he felt no pain as he saw the figure pull his small intestines slowly out, and inject them with a serum Sam hadn’t seen earlier. His mind was telling him to be afraid, but his heart was beating at a constant rate, no sweat across his forehead. The figure pulled Sam’s skin back together, it quickly healing itself, and suddenly the walls were no longer painted red, but instead held home to a calming blue, and there was his mother, standing over him in his bed, singing a lullaby. He was still paralyzed though, still felt the restraints on his ankles and wrists. But he could blink again, he realized once his eyes started stinging. And when he did, his mother was once again on his ceiling. 

Another blink, and she was in flames.

Blink. 

His dad was in the room. 

Blink.

He was crying his wife’s name. 

Blink.

And he was back in the motel room, his brother’s arms shaking his shoulders, concern written across the elder’s face. “Sammy, you okay?” He asked, worried. Sam looked around and realized it was just a dream, a very weird dream. “Uh, yeah” He replied but sounded unsure. “Yes.” He said once more, this time more certainty in his voice. “What time is it?” Dean, finally satisfied that his brother was feeling alright, turned back to take a final swig of his beer. “Two AM, time to go.” His brother sat up and rubbed his eyes, clearing gunk from them. They drove in silence, with only the sound of the wheels on the road filling the car, and it was putting Dean on edge. “So, you feel like talking about what happened back there? I was sat drinking my beer when suddenly you’re screaming bloody murder throwing your arms and legs all over the place. I could hear your heart racing.” Sam glanced out the side window, before replying with a simple no. He often did that. There was no logical reason behind it, but for some reason, it gave him courage, filled him with the strength to speak in times of pain or sorrow. “Dude, you can understand why I was worried, I thought it was you-know-who again.” Dean said, trying to prey the answer out of his brother. “I said I don’t want to talk about it, okay! It was just a bad dream. People get those from time to time, and sitting on leather in a metal box doesn’t magically make them talk, so cut it out.” The outburst caused his brother to sigh frustrated, turning on his music. He was only trying to help. Not wanting to go into a hunt with tension between them, the elder of the two tried to lighted the mood. “How dare you insult Baby like that. She is not just a metal box!” He feigned offence. Latching onto what his brother was trying to do, Sam returned with: “you’re right, she’s a beautiful metal box.” Dean smirked. “You hear that, girl? You’re beautiful.” He patted the dashboard and floored the gas.

Luckily, they didn’t have to go inside the asylum, as the graveyard was by the gates. Having gotten digging down to an art, the two men were finished in twenty minutes, and cracked the lid open. “I don’t get it.” Dean said. Sam looked just as baffled, for instead of a skeleton inside the coffin, lay a pile of ash, and the inside lid of the casket was scorched. “Maybe another hunter got here first.” Sam said, trying to think of a reason as to why the scene before him was as so. Turning around, Sam started to ask what his brother thought, but trailed off when he saw two angels holding Dean by the arms, one covering his mouth. “You are very correct Sam, but that was a good ten years ago.” The one keeping Dean silent said, pausing before saying the word ‘good’ to shrug nonchalantly. The other one, the one who’s vessel perfectly fit the description the witness had reported in his statement, laughed menacingly. “What do you want with us?” Sam demanded, retracting an angel blade he had acquired a few years back. “You? Nothing.” The angel shrugged once more. “Then give him back!” Sam threatened, stepping forward. “Ah, but you see, your little friend Castiel is quite invested with you two Winchesters. And especially with this little runt, for some reason, so it only makes sense for us to draw you out of whatever hole you were hiding in and use you as bait, else how do you expect us to find our brother dearest?”

Blink. 

The angels were gone, taking Dean with them. Sam looked around, his mind falling to a frantic panic. He was alone, angels had taken his brother and were going to do goodness knows what to him, and Cass was in danger. Not caring about the mess he caused earlier digging the grave, Sam picked up the duffel bag, and ran back to the car. He tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. Cursing, he remembered that Dean had the keys. He sighed and placed the bags down, going to hotwire the car. Once in the driver’s seat, he caught his reflection in the windscreen and a pang of sorrow hit him. This wasn’t his seat, it should be his brother sat here, cracking a joke and reversing onto the main road. A lump formed in his throat and he had to choke it back down, reminding himself that now was neither the time or place to get emotional. He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Cass. No answer, great. He set off back to the motel and though he drove in complete silence, his intrusive thoughts about what the angels were doing to his brother, and possibly his friend, were deafening. Just as the rain started to pour, Sam stepped back into the motel room and gave a wry laugh- the metaphorical heavens were opening, and the real heaven was sealed shut. He tried calling his angelic brethren again, but once more, the phone rang until voicemail. Quickly losing hope, Sam sat on the bed and started to pray. “Castiel, if you’re out there, I need your help. Dean needs your help. Please.” He sat like that for a solid five minutes, before flinging himself backwards, frustrated. He was alone, no way to rescue his brother, no way to save his friend. The younger Winchester wasn’t quite sure what brought the lump back to his throat, or what made him lose all control over his emotions, but salty tears soon started trickling down his cheeks and before he knew it, he had cried himself into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite jumping from buildings and chopping off body parts, Sam couldn’t force his body to awaken from the torturous dream he was in.

‘Come on Sam, Dean needs you’ He thought to himself as he sliced off another finger, blinking back the pain. He looked up and saw that he was completely alone, everywhere he turned was abandoned, not a person or animal in sight. 

Blink.

Scrap that, someone was there, staring at him in his peripheral vision. Sam turned to face him but the figure had vanished.

Blink.

It was back again, lingering in the corner of his vision, slightly blurred. “Show yourself, damn it!” Sam yelled, turning around to face the stranger, but once again, the figure was back in his far peripheral vision. Still, he couldn’t help swinging around once more, but he lost his balance. And now he was once again falling from a rooftop, though he wasn’t quite sure how he got there this time, as he was certain that just moments ago, he was stood on the pavement down below. Bracing himself, Sam thudded on the concrete, his back erupting in pain and he couldn’t help but yell out. The figure was no longer in sight as he lay back in defeat, his heart beating a thousand times a minute. 

Blink. 

The figure was stood over him, another injection in hand. But this time, Sam wasn’t paralysed, and he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Sam threw a pained punch at the figure but missed, greatly. After another few attempts at hitting and kicking the figure, Sam realised that despite the angle it looked down at him from, he still couldn’t see the stranger’s face. In fact, he couldn’t see anything at all, the world having suddenly fallen to black.

“Sam!”

He was sure it was the figure talking to him, but the voice sounded so familiar.

“SAM!”

His eyes shot open, and he could once again see. Instead of a hooded stranger stood over him, a soft faced, kind hearted angel stared worriedly down at him, two fingers on his neck. “I thought you were dead! You weren’t moving whatsoever, and you hardly had a pulse.” Sam brushed Castiel’s warm fingers off his neck and sat up slowly, his muscled tense and feeling exhausted from what his body had endured in his dream. “I’m fine.” He mumbled, trying to ignore the nagging voice in his mind telling him to go back to sleep. “The dried tears on your cheeks suggest differently. Sam-”. Dried tears? He touched his cheek and sure enough, there were dried tears. Why had he been crying? “Dean!” He gasped, the memories of the previous night’s events flooded back as he interrupted Castiel mid-sentence. The angel’s eyebrows scrunched and his eyes squinted in confusion. “Dean, what about him?” He asked. Sam rushed to explain to Cass what had happened the night before, stopping to catch his breath only once. As he recalled the story, he couldn’t help the tears from flowing once again. Once he finished telling the tale of what had occurred only a few hours prior, Castiel stood from the bed he had sat back on when listening to the story. Seeing the rage in his friend’s eyes, and knowing just how thoughtless he could be when passionate, Sam quickly raised and put a hand on his shoulder to stop the angel. “Where’d you think you are going?” Sam questioned, though he knew exactly where Cass was headed. Though the trenchcoated man had many talents, strategy was not one of them, he tended to just charge without fear of consequences. “You go back to heaven alone, you’ve fallen straight into their trap. If you’re dead, then I’m all alone and there’s no chance of rescuing Dean. No, we go back to the bunker and we find a spell or something to get him back.” Castiel hesitatingly nodded, knowing that Sam was right, but still hating it. He couldn’t take on an army of angels by himself, especially with the welfare of Dean on his mind. The Winchesters meant a lot to him, were his weakness, and the other angels knew that. Though he couldn’t help in that field, he’d be damned if they had to waste precious time that could easily be spent doing research, be driving dangerously in the car. With a nod of Sam’s permission, he zapped them back to the bunker and as soon as his feet were on solid ground again, Sam ran off to the archives, angel on his tail. 

Dust covered the lining of their lungs as they pulled out the fifth filing box of the day. They were sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by useless folder upon useless folder. Sam looked up and saw that Castiel’s eyes kept glancing at him, concerned. Taking a deep breath, as he was unsure if he really wanted to know the answer, Sam asked the angel: “Cass, if you hadn’t heard me calling for help with Dean, then why did you appear in my room?” Castiel paused his reading and looked Sam straight in the eye. “Angel radio suddenly started going crazy, thousands of my brothers and sisters talking excitedly at once. The noise was deafening and I grew fearful at what the fuss was about. One voice spoke above the rest so I tuned the others out and what I heard sent me rushing over to protect you. A reaper was coming to collect your soul, the light emitting from it quickly dimming. You were dying, Sam.” Sam felt the air rush from his lungs. “Oh.” Was all he could manage. Should he tell Castiel about the strange figure in his dreams? The one that was somehow controlling his body, even though he wasn’t actually there? No, now wasn’t the time, he decided. Dean was more important, as long as he didn’t sleep, he would be fine. He cleared his throat to change the topic back to dilemma at hand. Almost dying didn’t matter as much as his brother actually dying.

Two hours later, the pair were sat in silence reading through another box of files. Not even bothering to acknowledge the cough dancing on the back of his throat, Sam delved into the sixth file. He read in silence, a frown of concentration on his face. “I think I may have something, but it’s in Enochian so there’s the odd bit I can’t understand.” He passed the folder to the angel sat next to him, not noticing the look of sympathy Castiel gave him. He knew that Sam could read Enochian from his time in the cage, but it still hurt him knowing that Sam had spent so long there, long enough to learn an ancient and angelic language. He skimmed through it with ease, not needing to focus like his friend did. “No, absolutely not.” Sam looked at him in confusion. “It’s a spell to turn a human into an angel.” He said with no further explanation. Not seeing the problem, Sam tried to argue for it. “That’s great! We’ll turn me into an angel. With both of us up there, we stand quite a high chance of beating them dickheads who stole Dean. And once we rescue him, we reverse the spell.” Castiel was still doubtful. “There must be some other way to rescue him, I don’t want you to go through this. I’ve only heard of it attempted once and it was apparently a very painful process.” He didn’t understand, Sam thought. Dean was his brother and he would be willing to undergo as much pain as physically possible if it would save him, nothing could be as bad as what Dean was currently enduring. “Cass! I don’t care. If you won’t help me, I will do it alone. They are torturing my brother, your brother, and you want to sit around looking for another solution when we already have on?” He pleaded, his voice strained from trying to hold back more tears. Castiel sighed, knowing Sam was right. “Fine…”


End file.
